This Year Will Be Different
by Nargles1211
Summary: Francis visits Jeanne's grave on her death-day every year and this year, he promises himself that he won't break down. Just a quick one-shot since today is her death-day.


**Hello again everyone! This is a bit late in the day, but Here's a little fic about France today. Sorry that it isn't fluffy this time. I really love this pairing and I got really sad one day and then this happened so...here you go! As always, all of the characters belong to Mr. Hidekaz Himaruya.**

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The rain fell in a steady drizzle on what promised to be another dreary May 30th. Francis Bonnefoy was prepared for it this year; he had mentally braced himself so many times that he was sure he could make it through the day this time. It had been 582 years since his beloved Jeanne had been ripped from his life. He should certainly be able to handle the anniversary of her death by now. Deep down, Francis knew it wasn't true. After all, didn't he often wake up in the middle of the night from a dream about his angel with the feel of her lips still pressed to his forehead?

'This year will be different,' the Frenchman mentally promised himself as he pulled his silken blond hair away from his face with a thin, black ribbon. It was the same promise he had made – and broken – every year since 1431; not completely breaking down on Jeanne's death day was a hopeless endeavor. As he did every year without fail, Francis donned his most expensive suit, black shirt, and black tie. An old handkerchief of Jeanne's that had long-since lost its scent was tucked into his inner jacket pocket with the utmost care.

In silence, Francis walked the streets of Paris amidst busy people who hardly noticed as they bumped into him. After a few blocks of passing nameless people by, he slipped into his favorite florist's shop and purchased the same mix of fleur-de-lis and roses he ordered every year. Francis didn't even bother to put his umbrella back up as he stepped onto the sidewalk again and continued his trek to the secluded grave of the only person he had ever loved. To think France, the country of love who had slept with more people than he could count, had only ever fallen in love once, was preposterous. Despite his love for Jeanne, Francis wasn't even allowed to give her a proper burial. Her captors weren't satisfied with burning her once and proceeded to burn her twice more before tossing her ashes into the Seine. However, Francis took a wooden cross, later to be replaced with stone, and plunged it into the ground at the base of an old oak tree where they had once sat and talked for hours.

"Bonjour, mon ange," Francis murmured as he dropped to his knees in the mud before her makeshift gravestone. "I brought your favorite flowers again…I find it humorous that after all the times you told me I would find someone else to love, I still come back for you every year and hope all of this is only a nightmare. Why is that, hm?" he questioned, tears filling his light blue eyes. No one dared to visit Francis on May 30th: it was his day to rid himself of the grief he had kept hidden deep within himself for most of the year and most nations would be afraid of the dramatic change that overcame the flirtatious man. He simply couldn't help but let his happy façade sag into a mask of indescribable sadness for one day. He let himself be consumed by his memories and broken down to a shell of his usual self. "I love you so much, Jeanne. Je t'aime…je t'aimerai toujours, mon ange," he sobbed into his hands, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms one more time.

Jeanne was everything to Francis during the few short months that he had known her. She was his friend, his bravest soldier, the savior of his country, and now his angel. He knew that she watched over him and he prayed every night that she was happy. Francis missed everything about Jeanne – her passion for God and country, her light laugh that sounded like sunshine, her hand laced with his, her sparkling blue eyes, and all of the memories that they could have made together.

"I would do anything to be with you again," he choked, watching in horror as his memories flashed to the curling red flames that crept up the delicate form of his darling Jeanne. She had never done anything to deserve such a fate.

Francis let the rain continuously wash the flood of tears from his face as he poured out his soul to someone who already knew everything about him. Devoid of the words to express himself anymore, Francis crumpled at the foot of the oak tree. His suit, hair, and face became caked in mud, but he no longer cared as he closed his eyes and drifted off in hopes of dreaming of Jeanne again.

Several hours later, a phone rang in the home of a gentlemanly, but slightly ill-tempered Englishman.

"Hello, Arthur Kirkland speaking. May I ask who is calling?"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Kirkland; it's Marie calling, one of Monsieur Bonnefoy's maids. He left early this morning and hasn't been back despite all this rain! We called him and searched all over the town, but he was nowhere in sight. We were hoping that he might be with you since he usually seems to enjoy bothering you. Has he stopped by at all today?"

"No, he hasn't been by, but I'll give you a ring if he shows up. Also, would you happen to know the date, Miss Marie?"

"Certainly. It is May 30th."

"Ah…then I know precisely where Francis is. I'll have him get into contact with you within the hour.

"Merci, Monsieur! You are too kind."

"It isn't a problem. Thank you for calling me."

"You're welcome. Au revoir, Monsieur." The phone clicked to signal that Marie had hung up, and Arthur pulled on his coat, grabbed his umbrella, and hurried out the door. He knew that Francis wouldn't be happy to see him, but the frog would stay out there all night if someone didn't pull him away. Jeanne's death was mostly the fault of Arthur's countrymen, though he did get help from some of the French – it is even suspected that King Charles may have gone behind Jeanne's back to sell her out. The moment Arthur realized that they were wrong was on the night Francis begged him on hands and knees, dark circles under his eyes, and hair straggly, to allow him to see Jeanne in her cell. For the very first time, Arthur took pity on Francis and let him into Jeanne's cell under heavy guard supervision. The way he clung to Jeanne and sobbed for her stuck Arthur straight to the core; his adversary's deep love for the woman had immediately become clear. Whispers of 'I love you', 'please be brave', and 'I will do everything I possibly can to save you' drifted out of her cell and Francis only hugged Jeanne tighter when he was told to leave. Wars had seemed to tear Francis apart in the past, but nothing could split his soul so much as saying goodbye to Jeanne.

Arthur carefully picked his way over to the man curled in the mud at the foot of a pristine, white gravestone. Francis looked peaceful there, but also cold.

"Wake up," he murmured, placing a hand on Francis's shoulder. "You'll contract pneumonia if you stay out here much longer." Francis blinked the sleep out of his eyes and a frown slowly creased his face.

"I don't care…you interrupted my dream, Angleterre," he sleepily drawled. "Why would you do that?"

"Because your maids are worried about you, frog. You've missed dinner and your suit is ruined." Francis only chuckled and shook his head.

"It almost sounds as if you care, eyebrows. Go home and let me be. I don't need sympathy from you of all people."

"I didn't ask if you needed it; I told you to stand up and go home so you don't get sick."

"And I told you that I would like to stay."

"Please at least call home."

"I will. Au revoir, Angleterre."

"Farewell," Arthur said as he turned and left Francis alone.

"Merci for checking on me," Francis called as Arthur was almost out of earshot. Arthur waved a hand in acknowledgement, fully believing that Francis would not be returning home until long past midnight.

"Au revoir, amour," Francis reluctantly whispered. "We'll meet again someday." With that, he stood up, and began the journey home, refusing to answer any questions when he arrived in favor of a tall glass of wine to put him to sleep.

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**French:**

**Bonjour - good morning, hello**

**Mon ange - my angel**

**Je t'aime - I love you**

**Je t'aimerai toujours - I will always love you**

**Monsieur - Mister**

**Merci - thank you**

**Au revoir - goodbye**

**Angleterre - England**

**Amour - love**

**Thank you all so much for reading! I know it's kind of a generic story, but I like it anyway. Have a nice day!**


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